UC-NRLF 


•4 


"WHorld  Series 


THE  PEARL 


THE  PEARL 

AN  ENGLISH  VISION-POEM  OF 

THE  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY 

DONE  INTO  MODERN  VERSE 

BY  MARIAN  MEAD 


Portland,  Maine 
THOMAS  a  7*OSHB\ 

Mdccccviy 


This  First  Edition  on 
Van  G elder  paper  con- 
sists of  92  5  copies. 


COPYRIGHT 

THOMAS  B.  MOSHER 

1908 


THREE  QUATRAINS 


We  lost  you  —  for  bow  long  a  time  — 
True  Pearl  of  our  poetic  prime  ! 
We  found  you,  and  you  gleam  re-set 
In  Britain's  lyric  coronet. 

ALFRED,   LORD   TENNYSON. 


A  little  grave,  a  nameless  man's  distress, 
And  lo  !  a  wail  of  lyric  tenderness, 
Unheard,  unseen  for  half  a  thousand  years, 
Asks  from  lovers  equal  loss  tbe  praise  of  tears. 

S.    WEIR    MITCHELL. 


Pearl  !  jewel  that  art  beauty  born  of  pain  ; 
Pure  day-  gleam  of  our  poesy,  dawning  twice; 
Shine  still  for  mortal  hearts,  that  still  attain 
From  grief  to  vision,  and  tbe  pearl  of  price. 

MARIAN    MEAD. 


514887 


INTRODUCTION 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  vision,  that  literary  form  so  dear  to 
mediaeval  writers,  is  commonly  a  very 
conventional  setting.  As,  at  a  later  period, 
a  certain  kind  of  o'er-vaulting  poetic  ambi- 
tion would  embody  itself  in  a  quantum  of 
sentimental  episodes,  and  a  goodly  number 
of  battles,  and  be  called  an  epic,  so  equally 
as  a  matter  of  course  did  the  romantic  or 
didactic  fancy  of  this  age  feel  the  need  of 
clothing  itself  in  the  pageantry  of  the  dream. 
Usually  such  poetry  presents  classical  figures 
or  personified  abstractions,  Love,  Reason, 
and  the  like,  appropriately  clad,  and  wander- 
ing about,  probably,  in  delightful  gardens, 
often  for  no  particular  purpose,  apparently, 
save  the  edification  of  chance  dreamers. 
The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  is  of  course  the 
great  model  of  this  type;  and  the  three 
chief  English  poets  contemporary  with  the 
unknown  author  of  The  Pearl^  Chaucer, 
Gower,  and  Langland,  employed  the  vision - 
form  as  a  convenient  vehicle  of  their  varying 
inspirations.  Chaucer,  indeed,  as  he  came 
into  the  fullness  of  his  powers,  threw  off  the 
machinery  of  the  dream.  When  he  needed 


INTRODUCTION 

a  framework  for  the  Canterbury  Tales,  the 
conventional  was  left  behind,  with  such 
allegorical  and  classical  fancy  as  had  made  a 
setting  for  Gower's  stories,  and  the  wonder- 
ful nature  and  realism  of  the  great  Prologue 
were  introduced  into  English  literature  by 
him  who  is  justly  called  its  father. 

But  of  the  vision-poem  there  are  two 
examples,  at  least,  as  to  which  the  obvious 
criticism  entirely  falls.  As  Shakespeare,  of 
the  dramatic  form  so  popular  in  his  day,  so 
subject  to  all  the  extravagances,  good  and 
bad,  of  popularity,  created  a  thing  ideally 
apart,  a  marvel  for  all  time ;  as  Spenser,  of 
the  already  ruinous  fabric  of  chivalrous 
romance,  built  a  lasting  kingdom  for  those 
who  love  beauty ;  so  nobly  in  its  season  was 
perfected  the  flowering  of  the  vision.  And 
when  we  have  done  honour  to  the  great 
cathedral  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  skirted  by 
its  studious  cloister  of  the  Convito,  heralded 
by  its  slender,  soaring  campanile  of  the  Vita 
Nuova,  let  us  seek,  not  so  far  from  the  lofty 
sculptured  choir  of  the  Paradiso,  the  baptis- 
tery of  The  Pearl,  —  smaller,  humbler,  as 
befits  the  shrine  of  childhood,  yet,  though 
the  hand  that  wrought  it  was  of  different 
race,  akin  in  structure  and  material,  and  no 
unworthy  companion.  For  this  poem  too, 
while  so  much  less  in  power  and  aim  and 


INTRODUCTION 

scope,  is  a  "  vision  "  of  things  eternal,  in  no 
mere  convention  of  name  or  form,  but  in 
clearness  and  radiance  of  actual  insight. 

The  poem,  beginning  with  the  lament  of 
a  father  for  his  infant  daughter,  under  the 
symbol  of  a  pearl,  probably  suggested  by 
her  name  of  Margaret,  or  Margery,  passes 
on  to  a  revelation  in  dream  of  her  bliss  in 
Paradise. 

Leaving  aside  for  the  moment  its  spiritual 
aspect,  The  Pearl  has  a  quality  which  made 
it  a  remarkable  product  of  its  own  time,  and 
should  serve  to  endear  it  to  readers  of  our 
own,  —  its  lyrical  power.  For  sustained 
though  varying  lyrical  quality,  and  for  depth 
of  personal  note,  The  Pearl  is  surely  unique 
in  the  literature  of  its  time,  as  handed  down 
to  us.  While  the  lyric  strain  had  been 
sounded  very  sweetly  in  our  language,  its 
notes  had  been  slender  and  scattered.  Not 
till  Sidney  and  Spenser  would  the  English 
lyric  realise  its  possibilities  of  form  and  feel- 
ing. Remarkable,  therefore,  is  this  poem  in 
its  expression  of  deep  personal  emotion  in 
an  age  when  such  expression,  apart  from 
purely  religious  utterances,  was  scarcely 
known,  as  well  as  in  its  truly  lyrical  singing 
quality.  How  touching,  for  instance,  how 
permeated  with  a  deep  passion  of  grief,  a 
passion  creating  its  own  music,  is  the  greet- 


INTRODUCTION 

ing  of  the  bereaved  father  to  his  child,  first 
seen  in  the  light  of  the  Earthly  Paradise : 

"  O  Perle,"  quod  I,  "  in  perlez  pyght, 

Art  thou  my  perle  that  I  haf  playned, 

Regretted  by  myn  one,  on  nyghte? 

Much  longeynge  haf  I  for  the  layned,  (hidden) 

Sythen  into  gresse  thou  me  aglyghte  ; 

Pensyf,  payred,  I  am  forpayned, 

&  thou  in  a  lyf  of  lykyng  lyghte 

In  paradys  erde,  of  stryf  unstrayned. 

What  wyrde  hath  hyder  my  juel  wayned, 

And  don  me  in  thys  dol  &  gret  daunger  ? 

Fro  we  in  twynne  wern  to  wen  and  twayned, 

I  haf  ben  a  joylez  juelere." 

How  wonderful,  again,  in  its  throb  of  joy, 
is  the  almost  ecstatic  outburst  of  praise 
beginning 

"  O  maskelez  Perle,  in  perlez  pure, 
That  berez,"  quod  I,  "  the  perle  of  prys." 

(Stanza  63.) 

which,  in  four  antiphonal  stanzas,  strikes  a 
new  .key,  and  introduces  the  higher-pitched 
Apocalyptic  portion  of  the  poem,  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  mystic  Lamb,  and  the  bliss  of  the 
Heavenly  City. 

The  Pearl  is  eminently  a  piece  to  read, 
and  read  again,  for,  as  Dr.  Osgood  has  said, 
"  At  first  reading,  the  course  of  the  poem  is 
likely  to  seem  interrupted  with  dull  digres- 
sions, out  of  proportion  to  the  rest.  But,  if 
it  is  viewed  as  a  whole,  its  various  parts' 


INTRODUCTION 

sink  into  a  right  and  helpful  relation  to  each 
other."  Familiarity  shows  every  part  vital, 
even  throbbing  with  life.  Grief,  tenderness, 
despair,  a  sense  of  the  terror  and  tragedy 
which  lie  in  wait  for  man's  soul,  rapture, 
faith,  delight  in  the  mysterious  loveliness 
of  Paradise,  sympathy  with  the  divine  law 
of  the  spiritual  kingdom  of  the  blest,  —  all 
these  lyrical  mptives  are  shot  and  inter- 
woven through  the  poem,  and  sound  in 
moving  and  various  harmony. 

The  verse-plan  of  the  piece  is  admirably 
conceived.  Its  divisions,  its  linking  refrains, 
its  recurring  rhymes,  the  movement  of  the 
verse,  simple,  flexible,  and  harmonious,  are 
all  lyrically  expressive.  The  refrain,  (omitted 
only  twice,  at  the  beginning  of  the  52nd  and 
6ist  stanzas)  has  a  special  value,  enclosing, 
as  it  were,  each  stanza  between  two  deeper 
emotional  breathings,  which  at  once  empha- 
sise its  separate  force,  and  prepare  the  mind 
for  a  fresh  flight.  Simpler  than  a  sonnet - 
sequence,  the  poem  is  equally  a  linked  chain ; 
and  more  strictly  narrative  in  spirit  than 
either  the  usual  sonnet -sequence  or  the  In 
Memoriam,  which  it  also  suggests,  the  more 
ballad-like  effect,  due  to  the  refrain,  is  entirely 
suitable.  The  stanza  in  structure  somewhat 
resembles  the  modern  sonnet,  consisting  as 
it  does  of  an  octave  followed  by  a  quatrain, 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 

nearly  always  distinguished  in  subject  or 
feeling,  or  both.  When  the  quatrain  does 
not  introduce  a  new  thought,  or  a  heighten- 
ing of  emotion,  this  is  usually  done  by  the 
two  (once  by  the  three)  concluding  lines. 
The  combination  of  alliteration  with  elabo  - 
rate  rhyme  is  interesting,  the  poet  having, 
as  Mr.  Gollancz  says,  one  hand  towards 
the  earlier  English,  the  other  towards  the 
French  influences  ;  and  the  sentiment  of  the 
piece  is  likewise  a  mingling  of  the  homely 
11  Saxon  "  and  the  courtly  "  Norman." 

The  lyric  impulse  gathers  into  one  concen- 
trated brightness  many  rays  and  colours  of 
the  poetic  consciousness,  and  a  glance  at 
some  of  these  may  add  to  an  appreciation 
of  The  Pearl.  The  poet's  interest  in  nature, 
for  instance,  seems  very  real,  and  not  at  all 
that  conventional  admiration  of  mediaeval 
writers  for  the  garden  or  park,  nature  tamed 
and  adorned,  to  which  even  Chaucer  in  his 
earliest  work  was  bound.  But  our  poet 
takes  us  where  there  were  cliffs,  and  his  fair 
forest  has  rocks;  he  leads  us  among  hills, 
which  he  hints  were  sometimes  steep;  he 
gives  us  the  wild  image  of  thunder  rolling 
among  storm -darkened  tors.  Those  who 
recall  the  aversion,  almost  rising  to  horror, 
of  our  forefathers,  nearly  until  modern  times, 
for  those  rugged  aspects  of  nature  which  to 

xiv 


INTRODUCTION 

us  are  so  satisfying  and  sublime,  will  perceive 
the  introduction  of  such  features  into  Para- 
dise to  be  quite  worthy  of  remark.  If  the 
poet,  as  often  supposed,  was  of  northern 
origin,  here,  no  doubt,  was  an  instinctive 
recalling  of  early  surroundings.  Again,  he 
writes  with  pleasure  of  downs  and  dales, 
woods  and  waters  and  noble  plains,  hedge- 
rows and  "rich  rivers;"  betraying  an  eye 
accustomed  to  delight  in  broad  prospects,  a 
sense  of  landscape.  He  is  a  lover  of  moon 
and  stars;  when  the  heavenly  procession 
suddenly,  mystically,  becomes  visible  to  him, 
it  is 

Ryght  as  the  maynful  mone  con  rys 
Er  thenne  the  day-glem  drive  al  doun. 

The  gems  that  pave  the  wondrous  pool  shine 
through  the  water's  depths 

As  stremande  sterrez  quen  strothe  men  slepe. 

Even  Chaucer  cared  little  for  the  glories  of 
night,  noticing  the  stars  chiefly  to  compare 
to  them  his  roguish  Friar's  eyes. 

The  poem  for  its  time  is  rich  in  sugges- 
tions ofjjojflmr^  The  picture  in  stanzas  7  -8, 
of  crystal  cliffs  beset  with  woods,  the  tree- 
stems  all  of  deep  bright  blue,  with  leaves 
like  burnished  silver,  the  gravel  underfoot 
of  orient  pearl;  these  groves  all  adorned 


INTRODUCTION 

with  ripe  fruits,  and  filled  with  the  motion 
of  flame-coloured  birds,  paints  for  us  an 
unearthly  beauty,  and  shows  keen  sensibility 
to  the  value  of  colours.  The  poet  loved 
the  hues  of  gold  and  jewels,  placing  above 
all  gems,  as  "  gentyleste  in  uch  a  plyte,"  the 
amethyst,  "  purpre,  with  ynde  blente."  He 
sees  his  Pearl,  however,  arrayed  only  in 
white  and  pearls,  her  shining  hair  giving 
that  glory  of  gold  so  tenderly  hinted  at  in 
the  opening  lines  of  the  poem, 

Perle,    .... 

To(o)  clanly  clos  in  gold  so  clere ! 

Spenser,  too,  was  to  see  the  most  beloved 
women  of  his  imagination,  Una,  Britomart, 
Belphoebe,  Florimell,  in  these  pure  and 
royal  hues.  Our  poet  is  notably  a  lover  of 
light,  —  of  whiteness,  silver,  gold,  jewels, 
glass,  crystal  cliffs,  river-banks  of  beryl ;  he 
delights  in  the  lovely  brightness  of  emerald 
and  sapphire  seen  through  clear  water;  in 
the  radiant  river  flowing  from  the  heavenly 
throne ;  in  the  "  worthly  lyght "  that  shines 
upon  that  river's  brim,  before  which  moon 
and  planets  and  the  sun  himself  are  but  poor 
and  pale.  He  has  assimilated  the  glorious 
imagery  of  the  Apocalypse,  its  splendour  of 
burnished  gold  and  lucent  gem,  as  well  as  its 
picture  of  the  state  of  the  blessed. 


INTRODUCTION 

With  the  Apocalypse,  indeed,  a  Christian 
father  would  at  that  day  be  likely  to  have 
his  mind  filled,  as  he  fell  in  a  trance  of 
sorrow  on  the  little  mound.  Thus,  inspired 
by  a  deeper  pain,  a  higher  passion,  than 
Chaucer  knew,  bloomed  this  lyric  of  child- 
hood fairer  even  than  his  tale  of  the  little 
singing  martyr ;  thus  grew  this  conception  of 
infant  death,  more  unified,  more  fruitful,  than 
De  Quincey's  touching  and  lofty  description 
of  his  childhood's  bereavement.  Though 
the  Apocalypse  be  not  to  us  what  it  was  to 
our  forefathers,  though  the  theology  of  The 
Pearl,  as  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  is  partly 
outgrown  as  literal  belief,  yet,  since  a  sym- 
bolism is  necessary  to  express  the  truths  of 
spiritual  being,  where,  after  all,  is  one  more 
magnificent  or  more  touching  than  that  of 
John  the  Divine  ?  Of  these  visionary  worlds 
the  Pearl  maiden  says,  "  Thou  thinkest  me 
here,  because  here  thine  eyes  behold  me," 
and  Beatrice,  "  Souls  are  presented  in  this 
sphere  only  for  thy  better  understanding." 
Their  real  mode  of  being  the  eye  of  earthly 
man  cannot  see,  nor  his  heart  conceive. 

Of  the  Divine  Comedy  and  The  Pearl  the 
theological  scope  differs  as  does  that  of 
the  poems  themselves.  Dante,  progressing 
through  the  cycle  of  sin,  purification,  and 
beatitude,  takes  for  his  own  the  whole  expe- 

xvii 


INTRODUCTION 

rience  of  the  soul,  as  conceived  in  his  day. 
The  Pearl  is  a  glorification  of  unblemished 
innocence,  — "  the  innocent  are  aye  saved 
by  right,"  is  the  burden  of  its  theological 
teaching.  And  this  exaltation  of  spotless- 
ness,  being  no  lifeless  product  of  monkish 
ideas,  but  the  accompaniment  of  an  over- 
whelming human  grief,  makes  the  poem  a 
beautiful  thing  apart,  like  those  saintly  and 
seraphic  beings  given  us  by  Fra  Angelico, 
on  whom  no  shadow  of  sin  has  ever  fallen. 

It  remains  to  touch  upon  the  mysticism  of 
The  Pearl —  it  would  seem  better  to  say,  its 
"imagination  penetrative,"  as  illuminating 
conditions  of  the  unseen  world ;  for  it  was 
the  faculty  which  grasps  and  reveals  the 
vital  heart  of  things,  their  essential  quality, 
that  Ruskin  so  named.  It  is  by  this  faculty 
that  The  Pearl  is  worthy  to  stand  as  a  little 
shrine  beside  the  mighty  fabric  of  Dante. 
Lacking  though  it  does  the  tools  of  the 
Florentine's  imagination,  the  magnificence 
of  his  line,  the  great  similes  and  white-hot 
figures  which  force  home  his  thought,  yet 
the  English  poem,  simple  indeed  as  a  little 
child,  like  it  is  through  all  its  body  trans- 
parent to  the  informing  soul;  the  poet's 
exaltation,  to  use  an  image  of  his  own, 
passes  to  us  like  a  gleam  through  glass, — 
"  as  glente  thurgh  glas  that  glowed  and 

xviii 


INTRODUCTION 

glyght."  Thus,  the  father's  first  sight  of 
his  lost  child,  shining  in  her  white  and  gold 
beyond  the  dividing  water,  —  the  "  gladande 
glory  "  which  filled  his  soul,  —  his  longing  to 
call  her,  —  the  sudden  abashment  at  thought 
of  the  strange  place  he  saw  her  in, —  the 
sting  at  his  heart  as  she  in, her  beauty  lifted 
up  her  white  brow,  —  the  dread  and  doubt 
which  fell  upon  him,  —  their  dialogue,  the 
father's  plaints,  the  child's  grave  but  gentle 
reproofs,  —  her  solicitude,  as  a  soul  forever 
lifted  above  all  grief,  to  open  his  eyes  and 
strengthen  him,  her  joy  in  his  amendment 
of  feeling,  —  all  these  breathe  not  only  the 
mystery  of  other  worlds,  but,  as  with  Dante, 
also  a  concentrated  passion  which  makes 
them  real.  This  passion  it  is  which  has 
kept  the  poem  so  free  from  allegory,  that 
pitfall  of  its  age,  a  pitfall  indeed  too  common 
to  frigid  imagination  in  any  age,  as  seen  in 
the  Kilmeny  of  James  Hogg,  for  instance, 
where  a  fine  poetic  conception  of  the  "  land 
of  vision  "  is  constantly  being  spoiled  by  the 
failure  of  strong  feeling,  and  degenerating 
into  feeble  commonplace. 

Through  this  gift  of  "  strong  imagination," 
which  is  as  much  of  the  heart  as  of  the  mind, 
our  poet,  like  Dante,  beholds  the  heavenly 
kingdom  with  an  illuminating  clearness. 
Both  tell  us  that  there  difference  of  spiritual 


INTRODUCTION 

rank  or  station  means  no  lessening  of  joy. 
Piccarda's  teaching  is  also  that  of  The  Pearl. 
The  parable  of  the  vineyard,  so  feelingly 
retold,  has  already  illustrated  this  doctrine, 
while  the  thirteen  stanzas  following  it  have 
developed  the  reasonableness  of  the  salvation 
of  innocents,  by  both  grace  and  justice, — 
"  the  grace  of  God  is  gret  inoghe,"  and 
"  the  innocent  is  ay  saf  by  ryght;  "  this  part 
of  the  poem,  the  climax  of  its  argument, 
betraying  a  touching  eagerness  to  demon- 
strate, beyond  chance  of  doubt,  the  welfare 
of  the  dead  child.  But  now,  rising  on 
stronger  pinions,  without  question  or  debate 
the  poet  accepts  his  spiritual  teaching. 
"  Each  one's  bliss  is  perfect  and  best ; " 
whoever  arrives  in  the  kingdom  of  the  Liv- 
ing God  is  made  king  or  queen  of  all,  yet  no 
one's  sovereignty  diminishes  another's,  and 
each  would  desire  another's  increase  of  power 
if  it  were  conceivable  that  this  could  add  to 
his  happiness.  Thus,  also,  increase  in  the 
number  of  the  partakers  of  joy  makes  it 
more,  not  less : 

"  The  mo  the  myryer,  so  God  me  blesse. 
In  compayny  gret  our  luf  con  thryf 
In  honour  more  &  neuer  the  lesse." 

So  the  greeting  of  the  blessed  spirits  to 
Dante,  "  Lo,  one  who  shall  increase  our 


INTRODUCTION 

loves !  "  They  are  to  him  "  perpetual  flowers 
of  the  eternal  gladness,  which  make  all  your 
odours  seem  to  me  as  only  one."  (Par.  xix, 
Norton.) 

Light  is  the  great  expression  to  us  of  the 
joy  of  the  purified  spirits.  As  Beatrice's 
eyes  at  every  upward  flight  increase  in  glory, 
so  the  father,  looking  into  the  celestial  throng 
to  see  "  how  thay  wyth  lyf  wern  last  and 
lade,"  beholds  his  "little  queen,  .  .  among 
her  peers  that  was  so  white" 

"  Lorde  !  muche  of  mirthe  wacz  that  ho  made  !  " 

he  cries.  For  not  only  is  the  deep  and 
mystic  joy  of  the  Paradiso  apparent  in  The 
Pearl,— 

The  fyrre  I  folghed  those  floty  valez, 

The  more  strengthe  of  joye  myn  herte  straynez,— 

but  there  is  a  spirit  of  mirth,  sweet  and 
childlike,  according  well  with  the  subject 
and  simplicity  of  the  poem. 

The  tie,  even  more  human  and  touching 
than  that  which  holds  Dante  to  Beatrice, 
between  the  father  and  his  child,  like  that, 
is  the  more  moving  for  being  lightly  borne 
upon.  That  pregnant  phrase  of  his,  on  see- 
ing the  little  maiden  shining  in  glory  beneath 
the  crystal  cliff,  —  "I  knew  hyr  wel,  I  hade 
sen  hyr  ere,"  irresistibly  recalls  the  lover's 


INTRODUCTION 

cry  in  the  Blessed  Damozel,  "  I  heard  her 
tears ! " 

Such  beings  as  Beatrice  and  Pearl,  no 
longer  only  the  beloved  woman  or  the  be- 
loved child,  but  spirits  purified  and  immortal, 
in  the  fulness  of  their  joy  and  vision,  poetry 
can  shadow  forth  only  through  aid  of  that 
inward  comprehension  which  Ruskin  called 
the  highest  form  of  the  imaginative  faculty. 
Of  them  we  read  with  the  conviction,  that 
if  mortal  might  hold  communion  in  the 
world  of  the  tfnseen  with  a  "  blessed  ghost,'* 
such  would  be  its  presence,  its  manner  of 
speech,  the  conditions  of  its  being,  in 

an  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air, 
And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  of  gleams. 

The  sight  of  "that  fayre  regioun,"  of  "alle 
tho  syghtez  so  quike  and  queme"  (living 
and  fair),  reconciles  the  bereaved  man  to 
his  loss,  and  the  poem,  begun  in  sorrow's 
storm,  closes  in  the  peace  of  faith.  Love, 
seeing  that  it  is  well  with  the  beloved  one, 
joyfully  acquiesces  in  its  own  deprivation, 
and  acknowledges  the  wisdom  of  a  Higher 
Will.  The  vision,  though  ending  untimely, 
and  not,  like  Dante's,  culminating  in  a 
supreme  revelation  of  the  Divine  Nature, 
yet  fulfills  its  own  simpler  purpose,  —  the 
stilling  of  a  personal  sorrow  in  the  comfort- 

xxii 


INTRODUCTION 

ing  sense  of  the  reality  and  nearness  of  that 
Divine  Purpose  which,  in  those  old  days, 
was  conceived,  not  as  immanent  in  this 
world,  but  as  apart,  and  coming  only  by 
act  of  grace  into  relation  with  this  "doel- 
doungoun." 

Lost  for  so  many  centuries,  and  still 
insufficiently  recognised,  surely  The  Pearl 
will  yet  come  to  its  own,  and  fit  audience 
find.  For  to  the  spirit  in  every  age  it  must 
speak,  through  its  lyric  note  of  sorrowing 
love,  its  mysterious  lightings  of  the  unseen, 
its  deep  reconciliation  of  the  soul  with  the 
"  Love  that  moves  the  sun  and  the  other 
stars." 


ERRATUM. 

P.  xxii.    Delete  "of  "  in  the  line  so  as  to  read  : 
"And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams." 


THE  PEARL 


In  la  sua  voluntade  e  nostra  pace. 
In  His  will  is  our  peace. 


PEARL,  pleasing  to  prince's  will, 
Set  ail-too  sweetly  in  clearest  gold ! 
A  gem  such  precious  worth  to  fulfill 
Ne'er  saw  I  from  Orient,  that  say  I  bold. 
So  round,  so  purely  radiant  still, 
So  smooth  was  it,  so  small  of  mould, — 
Wherever  bright  gems  I  judg'd  with  skill, 
Apart  and  alone  I  must  it  hold. 

Alas  !  in  an  arbour  it  from  me  roll'd ; 

In  the  grass  I  lost  it,  the  ground  it  got ; 

I  pine,  sore -wounded,  in  love-bonds  old, 

For  that  pearl,  mine  own,  withouten  spot. 


II 


Since,  in  that  spot  where  from  me  it  sprung, 
Oft  have  I  waited,  wanting  that  sore, 
That  whilom  was  wont  to  banish  my  wrong, 
Renew  my  bliss,  and  my  weal  restore ;  — 
It  could  but  crushing  grief  prolong, 
My  breast  but  burn  and  swell  the  more ; 
Yet  never,  methought,  so  sweet  a  song, 
As  in  those  still  hours  my  heart  stole  o'er. 

Ah !  was  it  not  much  that  there  I  bore  ? 

Her  fair  hue  so  hid  in  clayey  clot ! 

O  mould,  thou  marrest  a  blissful  store, — 

My  Pearl,  mine  own,  withouten  spot. 


in 


That  spot  with  spices  must  o'erspread, 
Where  wealth  like  this  to  waste  has  run ; 
Blossoms  white,  and  blue,  and  red, 
Shine  there  full  sheen  against  the  sun ; 
Flower  and  fruit  shall  be  fadeless,  fed 
Where  that  passed  down  to  grave-mould's  dun. 
All  grass  must  grow  from  grains  that  are  dead ; 
No  wheat  is  else  for  the  garner  won. 

From  good  each  good  is  aye  begun ; 

So  seemly  the  seed,  it  faileth  not, 

That  spices  should  spring  from  that  sweetest  one, 

That  precious  pearl  withouten  spot. 


IV 


In  that  spot  I  have  spoken  on, 

I  enter'd  into  that  arbour  green, 

In  August,  at  a  high  season, 

When  the  corn  was  cut  with  sickles  keen. 

On  the  mound  where  my  pearl  slipp'd  away,  time  agone, 

Herbs  grew  shading,  all  gay  and  sheen ; 

There  were  gillyflower,  ginger,  and  gromwell  thereon, 

And  peonies  powder'd  thick  between. 
Fair  was  it  there,  and  if  goodly  seen, 
Goodlier  still  smelt  the  fragrant  plot, 
Where  lies  that  treasure,  I  wot  and  ween, 
My  precious  pearl  withouten  spot. 


On  that  spot  I  clasp'd  my  hands,  —  that  mound, 
With  sorrow  full  cold  my  heart  it  caught, 
A  sudden  grief  did  my  soul  confound, 
Though  reason  peace  within  me  taught. 
I  mourn'd  my  pearl  that  there  was  bound, 
With  fiercest  doubts  that  stubborn  fought ; 
Though  Christ's  own  comfort  might  be  found, 
My  wretched  will  in  woe  aye  wrought. 

I  fell  on  that  mound  with  flowers  fraught ;  — 
Such  odour  through  my  senses  shot, 
A  dream  came  upon  me,  deeper  was  naught, 
Of  that  precious  pearl  withouten  spot. 


VI 


FROM  the  spot  my  spirit  sprang  into  space, 
While  my  body  dream'd,  to  the  mound  it  clove. 
My  ghost  was  gone,  by  God's  own  grace, 
Where  wonders  and  mysteries  are,  to  rove. 
I  knew  not  in  this  world  the  place, 
But  I  found  me  set  where  were  cliffs  above : 
Toward  a  forest  I  turn'd  my  face, 
Where  rocks  of  splendour  in  richness  throve. 

The  brightness  of  them  no  belief  would  move, 

Their  gleaming  glory  that  shone  so  there ; 

For  never  was  web  that  mortal  wove, 

Of  splendour  half  so  rich  and  fair. 


VII 

Fair  adorned  those  hillsides  lay, 
With  crystal  cliffs  full  clear  of  kind ; 
Bright  holt  and  wood  about  them  stay, 
And  their  boles  are  blue  as  blue  of  Ind. 
Like  burnish'd  silver  the  light  leaves  play, — 
On  ev'ry  branch  thick  they  trembl'd  and  shin'd, — 
Where  open  glade  giveth  them  gleam  of  day, 
Their  shimmering  sheen  full  glory  doth  find. 
The  gravel  that  underfoot  we  grind, 
Is  precious  pearl  of  Orient  there  ; 
The  sunbeam  pales,  and  grows  but  blind, 
Before  that  splendour  rich  and  fair. 


VIII 

So  fair  those  hills,  so  fair  and  dear, 
My  soul  her  griefs  forgot,  I  weet. 
Of  their  fresh  fruits  the  fragrance  mere 
To  breathe  gives  life,  like  very  meat. 
Mated  in  peace  the  birds  fly  near, 
Both  small  and  great  in  flame-hues  sweet ; 
But  cithern  string  or  minstrel  here, 
Their  lovely  mirth  may  not  repeat ; 

For  when  those  birds  their  wings  do  beat, 
They  sing  in  sweet  accord  so  rare, 
Such  gracious  glee  may  no  man  meet, 
As  hear  and  see  such  splendour  fair. 


IX 


So  fair  adorned  in  richest  guise 
That  forest  where  fortune  bade  me  wend, 
Set  forth  the  beauty  that  in  it  lies, 
No  tongue  ever  may  that  this  life  doth  lend. 
I  walk'd  on,  ever  in  blissful  wise  ; 
No  hill  too  toilsome  was  to  ascend ; 
The  further  in  forest,  the  fairer  did  rise 
Plain,  plants,  and  spice,  and  fruits  without  end, 
Hedgerows,  and  paths,  and  rich  rivers,  penn'd 
In  steep  banks,  glistening  like  gold  thread  rare ; 
To  the  shore  of  a  water  my  steps  did  bend, — 
Ah  Lord !  how  dear  was  that  splendour  fair  ! 


The  splendour  fair  of  that  water  deep, 
Its  lucent  banks  of  the  beryl  bright ! 
Sweet  was  the  rushing  water's  sweep 
With  murmurings  many,  and  swift  its  flight. 
A  brightness  of  stones  from  the  depths  did  leap ; 
Like  a  gleam  through  glass  they  glimmer'd  to  sight, 
Or  as  stars  refulgent,  while  safe  men  sleep, 
Shine  in  the  sky  through  the  winter  night ; 
For  every  pebble  the  pool  that  dight 
Was  emerald,  sapphire,  or  gem  as  rare, 
That  all  the  water  glister'd  with  light ; 
So  dear  and  rich  was  that  splendour  fair. 


XI 


THE  splendour  fair  of  downs  and  dales, 
Of  wood,  and  waters,  and  noble  plain, 
Bred  in  me  bliss,  and  soften'd  my  bales, 
Gave  peace  to  my  stress,  destroyed  my  pain. 
A  stream  whose  current  strongly  sails 
I  far'd  adown,  with  teeming  brain ; 
The  farther  I  followed  those  water'd  vales, 
The  stronger  joy  did  my  heart  constrain. 
Fortune  deals  ever  as  she  is  fain, 
Whether  solace  she  send,  or  sorrow  sore  ; 
But  wight  that  her  good -will  once  doth  gain, 
Seeks  to  have  ever  more  and  more. 


XII 

More  weal  was  I  ware  of  in  that  wise 
Than  I  could  tell  of,  though  time  gave  aid, 
For  earthly  heart  might  not  suffice 
That  a  tenth  of  that  gladness  should  be  said. 
In  truth,  I  thought  that  Paradise 
Beyond  those  broad  banks  close  was  laid ; 
I  thought  the  water  some  fair  device, 
A  mere  that  blissful  shores  embay'd ; 

Beyond  the  stream,  by  slope  or  glade, 

I  hop'd  to  see  the  city  soar ; 

But  the  water  was  deep,  I  durst  not  wade ; 

And  ever  I  long'd,  aye  more  and  more. 


XIII 

More  and  more  that  longing  I  bare, 
The  longing  to  see  what  lay  beyond, 
For  if  goodly  it  was  where  I  did  fare, 
Far  lovelier  was  the  farther  land. 
I  gaz'd,  and  stumbl'd,  searching  there, 
A  ford  I  sought  at  my  demand ; 
But  of  still  more  dangers  was  I  ware, 
The  further  I  stepp'd  along  the  strand : 

Methought  no  peril  should  have  bann'd 
My  venture  to  that  blessed  shore, 
When  fresh  delight  show'd  near  at  hand 
That  mov'd  my  mind  still  more  and  more. 


XIV 

More  marvels  smote  my  soul  beguil'd ; 
I  saw,  beyond  that  mere  so  fair, 
A  crystal  cliff,  in  light  that  smil'd, 
And  radiance  royal  stream'd  in  air ; 
And  at  its  foot  there  sat  a  child, — 
A  maiden  gracious,  debonnaire, 
In  white  all  glistening,  undefiPd : 
(I  knew  her  well,  I  had  seen  her  ere). 

Like  gleaming  gold  most  pure  and  rare, 

So  shone  she  bright  on  the  farther  shore ; 

Long  time  I  look'd  upon  her  there ; 

The  longer,  I  knew  her  more  and  more. 


XV 

The  more  I  look'd  on  her  fair  face, 
Her  tender  shape  when  I  had  seen, 
Such  glory  of  gladness  did  me  grace, 
As  seld  before  in  my  soul  had  been. 
To  call  her  then  I  wish'd  apace, 
But  abashment  seiz'd  me,  swift  and  keen ; 
I  saw  her  in  so  strange  a  place, 
That  shock  might  chill  my  heart,  I  ween. 
Then  lifted  she  up  her  forehead  sheen, 
Her  face  like  the  ivory  white  upbore, — 
That  stung  my  heart,  astounded  clean  ; 
And  ever  the  longer,  more  and  more. 


ii 


XVI 

MORE  than  I  list,  my  dread  arose ; 
I  stood  full  still,  and  durst  not  call ; 

With  open  eyes,  and  mouth  shut  close, 

I  stood  as  docile  as  hawk  in  hall. 

I  thought,  unearthly  were  these  shows ; 

I  dreaded  what  should  at  last  befall, 

Lest  she  should  escape,  whom  my  soul  there  chose, 

Ere  I  could  drive  my  prize  to  wall. 

That  gracious  one  then,  most  pure  of  all, 
So  smooth,  so  small,  so  lovely -slight, 
Rose  up  in  her  array  royal, 
A  precious  thing  in  pearls  bedight.    y 


XVII 

Pearls  bedight,  of  princely  fees, 
There  might  a  man  by  grace  have  seen, 
When  she,  as  fresh  as  flor-de-lis,  • 
Straight  down  the  bank  her  steps  did  lean ; 
All  dazzling  white  was  her  fair  amice  ; 
Open  the  sides,  and  border'd  between 
With  pearls,  the  fairest  and  fittest  to  please 
That  ever  I  saw  yet  with  mine  een. 

Wide  and  large  were  the  sleeves,  I  ween, 
With  doubl'd  pearl  adorn'd  and  bright ; 
The  kirtle,  too,  of  selfsame  sheen, 
With  precious  pearls  around  bedight. 


XVIII 

With  a  crown  was  the  maid  bedight, 

Of  pearls,  and  of  none  other  stone, 

Pinnacl'd  high,  of  pearls  pure  white, 

With  figur'd  flowers  thickly  sown. 

Her  head,  save  for  that,  uncovered  quite ; 

Her  hair  fell  all  about  her  thrown ; 

As  duke  or  as  earl  she  was  grave  to  the  sight ; 

More  white  her  hue  than  the  walrus -bone ; 

Like  pure  shorn  gold  her  soft  locks  shone, 
On  her  shoulders  lying,  all  loose  and  light ; 
Their  colour  deep  scarce  brighter  grown 
From  the  precious  pearls  that  her  bedight. 


XIX 

Bedight  and  broider'd  each  hem  and  seam 
That  opening,  and  side,  and  wrist  secure, 
With  pearls,  with  only  the  white  pearls'  gleam ; 
And  burnish'd  white  was  her  vesture. 
But  a  flawless  pearl,  a  marvel,  I  deem, 
Amid  her  breast  was  set  full  sure ; 
Mind  of  mortal  might  faint  and  dream, 
Ere  ever  its  worth  he  could  well  measure. 
I  think  no  tongue  is,  could  endure 
A  fitting  tale  to  tell  of  that  sight, 
It  was  so  white  and  clear  and  pure, 
That  precious  pearl  that  her  bedight. 


XX 

Bedight  with  pearls,  she,  rare  and  dear, 
Came  down  on  the  farther  shore  more  nigh ; 
No  gladder  man  betwixt  Greece  and  here, 
When  she  reached  the  water's  edge,  than  I. 
(More  than  aunt  or  niece  to  me  was  she  near, 
So  ever  the  more  my  joy  rose  high.) 
Then  proff  er'd  that  wonder  speech  to  mine  ear, 
Low  bending  to  me,  full  womanly ; 

From  her  head  the  rich  crown  she  put  by, 
And  blithely  hail'd  me  with  greeting  light. 
Well  for  me  that  I  was  born,  I  cry, 
That  sweet  to  answer,  with  pearls  bedight. 


XXI 

4  4  /^V  PEARL,"  said  I,  "  with  pearls  bedight, 

\^J     Art  thou  my  pearl  that  I  have  plain'd, 
And  regretted,  lone  in  the  lonely  night  ? 
Much  longing  for  thee  I  have  sustain'd 
Since  down  in  the  grass  thou  didst  slip  from  sight. 
Thought-weary  and  worn  am  I,  sore  pain'd, 
While  thou  to  a  life  of  joyance  bright 
In  Paradise  cam'st,  of  woe  unconstrain'd. 

What  fate  hath  hither  my  jewel  entrain'd, 
And  thrown  me  in  dolour  and  grief  and  fear  ? 
Since  we  two  apart  were  torn  and  distrain'd, 
I  have  been  but  a  joyless  jeweller." 


XXII 

That  jewel  then,  begemm'd  so  fair, 
Rais'd  up  her  face,  with  eyes  of  gray ; 
With  the  orient  pearl  she  crown'd  her  hair, 
And  soberly  then  did  she  say : 
"  Sir,  ye  have  well  mistaken  there, 
To  say  your  pearl  is  lost  away, 
That  is  kept  in  so  comely  a  coffer's  care, 
As  here  in  this  garden,  gracious  -gay ; 
Herein  forever  to  dwell  and  play, 
Where  sin  and  mourning  come  never  near ; 
Here  were  the  casket  for  thee,  in  fay, 
If  thou  wert  a  well-taught  jeweller. 


XXIII 

"  But,  jeweller  gentle,  if  thou  didst  lose 
Thy  joy,  for  a  gem  that  was  dear  to  thy  mind, 
Methinks  thou  but  unwisely  chose, 
And  with  scanty  reason  thy  soul  dost  blind ; 
For  that  which  thou  lost  was  but  a  rose, 
That  flower'd  and  fail'd  in  the  way  of  kind ; 
Now,  through  the  casket  that  holdeth  it  close, 
For  a  precious  pearl  it  is  seal'd  and  sign'd : 

Yet  thou  thy  fate  a  thief  dost  find, 

That  thy  naught  for  something  hath  bought,  full  clear ; 

To  what  cureth  thy  ills  thou  blame  dost  bind ; 

Thou  art  no  kindly  jeweller." 


XXIV 

A  jewel  to  me  then  was  this  guest, 

Jewels  the  soft  words  she  did  say. 

"  I-wis,"  said  I,  "  my  blissful -best, 

My  great  distress  thou  dost  allay ; 

To  be  excused  I  make  request ; 

I  trow'd  my  pearl  was  lost  to  the  day ; 

Tis  found,  now  feast  shall  I  make,  and  rest, 

And  dwell  with  it  in  woodland  gay, 

And  praise  my  Lord,  and  his  laws,  for  aye, 

That  hath  me  brought  this  bliss  so  near ; 

Were  I  with  thee  beyond  this  water's  way, 

I  were  now  a  joyful  jeweller." 


16 


XXV 

"  Jeweller,"  said  that  gem  serene, 

•*  Why  jest  men  thus  ?  so  mad  ye  be ! 

Three  words  thou  spok'st  in  one,  I  ween, 

Full  unadvis'd,  in  sooth,  all  three. 

Thou  nothing  know'st  what  thou  dost  mean, 

Thy  words  before  thy  wits  do  flee. 

Thou  sayest,  for  thus  thine  eyes  have  seen, 

Thou  deem'st  me  in  truth  in  this  vale  to  be ; 

Again,  thou  sayest,  in  this  country 

Thyself  shall  dwell  with  me,  even  here ; 

The  third,  thou  wouldst  pass  this  water  free : 

That  may  no  joyful  jeweller. 


XXVI 


4  4  T  HOLD  that  jeweller  little  to  praise, 

1     That  trusts  too  well  what  he  sees  with  eye  ; 

And  blameful,  and  wanting  in  noble  ways, 

Who  believes  our  Lord  would  speak  a  lie, 

That  leally  promis'd  your  life  to  raise, 

^Though  fortune  fell  on  your  flesh  to  die. 

Ye  make  of  his  words  but  a  twisted  maze, 

That  nothing  believe  but  ye  see  it,  ay, 
And  that  is  the  sin  of  arrogancy, 
That  any  good  man  doth  most  ill  beseem, — 
Naught  to  believe,  to  trust  or  try, 
But  his  own  reason  it  truth  shall  deem. 


XXVII 

"Deem  now  thyself  if  thou  didst  use 
Such  words  as  from  man  to  God  are  fit. 
To  dwell  in  this  kingdom  thou  dost  choose ; 
Thou  wert  better  first  ask  leave  for  it, 
And  yet  that  boon  thou  well  might'st  lose. 
Thou  wiliest  over  this  water  to  flit ; 
Ah,  first  another  lot  thee  ensues ; 
Thy  corpse  must  lie  cold  in  clods  of  the  pit, 

For  its  worth  in  Paradise  groves  was  quit ; 

Our  forefather  brought  it  to  ill  esteem  ; 

By  drear  death  must  every  mortal  be  smit, 

Ere  the  Lord  him  worthy  to  cross  here  deem." 


18 


XXVIII 

"  Deem'st  thou  me  doom'd,"  said  I,  "  my  sweet, 
To  dolour  again,  then  am  I  undone ! 
Now  I  have  found  what  from  me  did  fleet, 
Must  I  lose  it  again  ere  my  life  is  run  ? 
Why  shall  I  at  once  it  miss  and  meet  ? 
But  pain  for  me  my  pearl  has  won ! 
What  serve  treasures  but  gar  men  greet, 
If  they  find  but  to  lose  in  grief  anon  ? 

I  reck  not  to  sink  low,  from  this  hour  on ; 

Home  and  land  to  leave  no  ill  shall  seem ; 

For  when  my  pearl  from  me  is  gone, 

What  is  it  but  endless  dolour  to  deem  ? " 


XXIX 

"  Thou  deem'st  to  have  but  dole  and  distress,"   , 

Then  said  that  being,  "  why  dost  thou  so  ? 

Through  clamour  of  grief,  from  losses  less, 

To  those  far  greater  full  oft  men  go. 

Thou  better  thyself  shouldst  guide  and  bless, 

And  praise  God  ever,  in  weal  or  woe. 

Thy  anger  avails  thee  not  a  cress ; 

Who  needs  must  suffer  may  rage  forego ; 
For  though  thou  dance  as  any  doe, 
Chafe,  and  cry  out,  and  with  fierce  ire  teem, 
Since  thou  may'st  no  farther,  to  or  fro, 
Thou  must  abide  what  He  well  shall  deem. 


XXX 

"  The  Lord  shall  deem,  and  he  shall  ordain, 
Nor  will  he  swerve  one  foot  from  his  way ; 
Nothing  to  thee  shall  be  the  gain 
Though  never  for  sorrow  thou  shouldst  be  gay. 
Leave  thy  chiding,  and  stint  thee  to  strain, 
And  seek  His  bliss  as  fast  as  thou  may ; 
Thy  prayer  to  his  pity  may  attain, 
And  mercy  her  crafts  to  thee  display ; 
His  comfort  can  thy  languor  allay, 
Thy  grief  turn  back  like  a  glancing  gleam  ; 
For  marr'd  ye  or  mended,  in  woe  or  away, 
All  lies  with  him  to  allot  and  deem." 


XXXI 

THEN  deem'd  I  to  that  damosel, 
"  My  Lord  will  not  hold  me  in  wrath  and  scorn, 

Though  I  rave  as  the  rushing  words  impel, 

For  its  bursting  griefs  my  heart  have  torn, 

As  springing  waters  from  source  upwell. 

My  soul  be  aye  in  His  mercy  borne  ! 

Rebuke  me  never  with  words  so  fell, 

Dear  one,  ador'd,  though  I  err,  forlorn, 

But  show  thy  comfort  to  me  who  mourn, 
Thinking  with  pity  aye  on  this, 
That  for  thy  sake,  grief  is  my  fellow  sworn, 
That  once  wast  ground  of  all  my  bliss. 


XXXII 

"  My  bliss,  my  bale,  ye  have  been  both ; 

For  both  the  heavier  is  my  moan. 

Since  thou  wast  taken  away,  in  troth, 

I  never  knew  where  my  pearl  was  gone ; 

Now  I  see  it,  my  sorrow  go'th. 

We,  when  we  parted,  as  one  were  grown : 

God  forbid  that  we  now  be  wroth, 

We  meet  so  seldom  by  stock  or  stone. 

Though  fair  and  courteous  ye  speak  on, 
I  am  dust,  and  lack  manners  fair,  I  wis ; 
But  Christ  his  mercy,  and  Mary,  and  John, 
These  are  the  ground  of  all  my  bliss. 


21 


XXXIII 

"  In  bliss  I  see  thee,  and  joyance  dear 
And  I  a  man  of  mournful  fate ; 
It  takes  full  little  from  your  cheer, 
Though  I  have  often  hurts  so  great. 
But  now  that  I  have  won  so  near, 
I  would  beseech,  without  debate, 
With  sweet  consent  thou  let  me  hear 
What  life  ye  lead  here,  soon  and  late ; 
For  I  am  full  glad  that  your  estate 
Is  raised  to  worship  and  weal,  I  wis ; 
Of  all  my  joy  the  highway  straight 
It  is,  and  ground  of  all  my  bliss." 


XXXIV 

"  Now,  noble  sir,  bliss  thee  betide," 
Then  said  she,  lovesome  of  form  and  cheer, 
"  And  welcome  here  to  walk  and  bide, 
For  now  thy  speech  I  joy  to  hear. 
Masterful  mood,  and  haughty  pride, 
I  rede  thee,  are  bitterly  hated  here. 
My  Lord,  too,  loveth  not  to  chide, 
For  meek  are  all  that  dwell  him  near; 

And  when  in  his  place  thou  shalt  appear, 
Be  deep  devout  in  pure  meekness ; 
That  aye  to  my  Lord  the  Lamb  is  dear, 
That  is  the  ground  of  all  my  bliss. 


22 


XXXV 

"A  blissful  life  I  lead,  thou  dost  say, 

Its  state  and  manner  thou  wouldst  guage. 

Thou  know'st  well,  when  thy  pearl  slipp'd  away, 

I  was  full  young  and  tender  of  age  ; 

But  the  Lamb,  my  Lord,  as  his  godhead  may, 

He  took  myself  to  his  marriage, 

Crown'd  me  queen  in  his  bliss  to  stay, 

Gave  me  eternal  days  to  wage; 
And  seized  of  all  his  heritage 
His  beloved  are,  I  am  wholly  his ; 
His  praise,  his  price,  his  high  peerage, 
Are  root  and  ground  of  all  my  bliss." 


XXXVI 

4  4  OLISSFUL,'  said  I,  "  may  this  be  true  ? 
L_)     And  vex  thee  not  if  I  err  once  more ; 

Art  thou  the  queen  of  heaven  blue, 

That  all  the  world  shall  do  honour  for  ? 

We  believe  on  Mary,  of  whom  grace  grew, 

In  virgin  flower  a  child  that  bore; 

The  crown  from  her  who  might  undo, 

Save  one  who  in  favour  pass'd  her  o'er? 

Now  her  for  sweetness  supreme  we  adore, 
And  call  her  *  Phoenix  of  Araby,' 
That  blameless  liv'd  her  life  of  yore, 
Like  to  the  Queen  of  Courtesy." 


XXXVII 

"  Courteous  Queen,"  that  joy  then  said, 
Kneeling  to  earth  with  cover'd  face, 
"  Matchless  mother,  and  mirthfullest  maid, 
Blessed  beginner  of  every  grace ! " 
Then  rose  she  up,  and  still  she  staid, 
And  spoke  to  me  across  that  space. 
"  Sir,  here  many  seekers  rich  spoils  have  repaid, 
But  supplanters  are  none  within  this  place. 
That  empress  holds  heaven  in  vassal  case, 
And  earth  and  hell  too  in  her  fee ; 
From  that  heritage  none  may  her  displace, 
For  she  is  the  queen  of  courtesy. 


24 


XXXVIII 

"  The  court  of  the  Living  God's  realm  doth  thrive 

By  a  virtue  its  own,  and  ever  seen  ; 

Whoever  may  therein  arrive 

Of  all  the  realm  is  made  king  or  queen ; 

Yet  never  one  shall  another  deprive, 

But  all  rejoice  in  other's  demesne, 

And  would  that  another's  crown  were  five, 

If  possibly  better  that  had  been. 

But  my  lady,  Jesus'  mother,  I  mean, 
She  holds  the  empire  o'er  us  full  high, 
And  to  none  is  that  displeasing,  I  ween, 
For  she  is  the  queen  of  courtesy. 


XXXIX 


"  By  courtesy,  St.  Paul  did  say, 
All  we  are  members  of  Christ  by  right, 
As  head,  arm,  leg,  and  nail  alway 
Belong  to  the  body,  in  fealty  plight ; 
So  with  Christian  souls  is  the  way, 
Each  one  is  a  limb  of  the  Lord  of  Might.  VJ' 
Behold,  whether  hatred  or  any  fray 
Among  thy  members  comes  ever  to  sight ; 
Thy  head  feels  neither  grief  nor  spite, 
Though  rings  on  finger  or  arm  there  be ; 
So  fare  we  all  with  love  and  delight, 
To  king  and  queen,  by  courtesy." 


XL 

"  Courtesy,"  said  I,  "  I  believe, 
And  a  wondrous  love  is  there  you  among ;  '• 
But,  (let  not  now  my  speech  thee  grieve) 
Methinks  thou  speak'st  in  this  full  wrong, 
Thyself  in  heaven  o'er  high  dost  heave, 
To  make  thee  queen,  that  wast  so  young  1 
What  honour  more  might  he  achieve 
That  had  endured  in  this  world,  strong, 
And  lived  in  penance  his  life  long, 
With  body's  pain  him  bliss  to  buy, — 
What  worship  more  might  him  belong, 
Than  be  crown'd  king  by  courtesy  ? 


26 


XLI 

4  4  *""PHAT  courtesy  is  too  free,  indeed, 

1     If  it  be  sooth  that  thou  dost  say. 
With  us  on  earth  thou  life  didst  lead 
Not  two  years,  nor  unto  God  couldst  pray, 
Nor  please  him,  nor  knew'st  or  pater  or  creed ; 
And  thou  made  queen  on  thy  first  day ! 
I  may  not  think,  so  God  me  speed, 
That  he  would  deal  so  wrong  a  way. 
A  countess,  damosel,  by  my  fay, 
Perhaps  such  rank  thee  heaven  might  lend, 
Or  else  some  lesser  lady  to  stay ; 
But  a  queen,  that  is  too  high  an  end." 


XLII 

"  But  no  end  to  his  goodness  stays," 

Then  answer'd  me  that  precious  wight, 

4<  Truth  is  in  all  his  works  and  ways, 

He  cannot  do  or  think  but  right. 

Thus  Matthew  in  your  missal  says, 

In  gospel  true  of  the  God  of  might ; 

He  tells  a  parable,  worthy  all  praise, 

For  a  likeness  of  heaven's  kingdom  bright. 
Like,  he  says,  is  that  realm  of  light, 
To  a  lord  who  had  a  vineyard  to  tend, 
And  now  came  the  time  of  year  aright 
When  to  labour  there  was  the  season's  end. 


XLIII 

"  That  end  of  the  season  well  knew  every  hind ; 
The  lord  full  early  up  arose, 
For  his  vineyard  workers  to  hire  and  find, 
And  some  were  there,  ready  for  his  purp6se. 
Now  in  agreement  themselves  they  bind 
For  a  penny  a  day,  and  forth  each  goes, 
And  painfully  toils  at  the  task  assign'd, — 
Prunes,  and  fastens,  and  ties  all  close. 

At  noon,  the  mart  to  the  master  shows 
Men  that  stand  idle,  nor  make,  nor  mend ; 
*  Why  stand  ye  idle,'  he  saith  to  those, 
'  Know  ye  not  for  this  day  an  end  ? ' 


XLIV 

"  *  Hither_ere  end  of  the  night  we  won,' 
(They  answered  all  with  the  selfsame  thought) 
«  Here  have  we  stood  since  arose  the  sun, 
And  no  man  hath  bidden  us  do  aught.' 
'  To  my  vines  go,  do  what  ye  may,  each  one,' 
Said  that  lord,  and  their  labour  too  he  bought ; 
«  What  reasonable  hire  by  night  is  run, 
I  will  pay  you  in  full,  even  as  I  ought.' 

They  too  went  into  the  vines  and  wrought ; 
And  thus  all  day  did  the  master  wend, 
And  new  men  to  his  vineyard  brought, 
Till  the  day  had  almost  reach'd  its  end. 


28 


XLV 

"  At  end  of  the  day,  at  evensong, 
One  hour  before  the  sun  would  away, 
He  saw  there  idle  men  full  strong, 
And  gently  unto  them  did  say, 
1  Why  stood  ye  here  idle,  all  the  day  long  ? ' 
They  said,  no  man  did  their  service  pray. 
4  Go  to  my  vineyard,  yeomen  young, 
And  labour,  and  do  even  that  ye  may.' 

Soon  the  world  was  all  grown  gray, 

So  late  that  the  sun  no  light  did  lend ; 

He  calPd  them,  that  he  their  hire  might  pay; 

The  day  was  long  since  past  its  end. 


29 


XLVI 

t  4  '""pHE  end  of  the  day  that  lord  did  know ; 

1     '  Pay  the  men,'  he  cried  to  his  reeve  amain ; 
'  Give  them  the  hire  that  I  them  owe, 
And  further,  that  none  may  blame  me  in  vain, 
Set  them  all  alike  in  a  row, 
And  give  to  each  a  penny  for  gain. 
Begin  at  the  last,  that  standeth  low, 
Until  to  the  first  thou  shalt  attain,' 

And  then  did  the  first  begin  to  complain, 

Saying  that  they  had  labour'd  sore ; 

'  These  last  but  one  hour  did  them  pain ; 

It  seemeth  to  us  we  should  have  more. 


XLVII 

"  '  More  have  we  served  thee,  we  trow, 
Who  all  have  borne  the  heat  of  the  day, 
Than  these,  who  came  scarce  two  hours  ago ; 
Yet  thou  makest  them  equal  with  us  to  weigh.' 
Then  answer'd  that  lord  to  one  who  spake  so, 
*  Friend,  I  do  thee  no  wrong ;  I  say, 
Take  thou  what  is  thine  own,  and  go. 
If  I  hir'd  thee  with  promise  a  penny  to  pay, 

Why  beginn'st  thou  now  in  threatening  way  ? 

Didst  thou  not  agree  for  a  penny  of  yore  ? 

Seek  beyond  covenant  no  man  may ; 

Why  dost  thou  then  ask  for  more  ? 


XLVIII 

"  *  More  praiseworthy  is  not  giving  for  me, 
And  to  do  with  mine  own  even  as  I  will  ?  — 
Or  is  thine  eye  bent  evil  to  see, 
Because  I  am  good,  and  do  no  man  ill  ? ' 
1  Thus  shall  I,'  saith  Christ, '  decree ; 
The  last  of  all  shall  be  first,  still, 
And  the  first  the  last,  though  swift  he  be ; 
For  many  are  call'd,  though  few  high  place  fill.' 
Thus,  poor  men  not  in  vain  shall  till, 
Though  they  come  late,  and  have  small  store, 
And  though  their  labour  little  skill ; 
The  mercy  of  God  is  so  much  the  more. 


XLIX 

"  More  have  I  of  bliss  and  joy  herein, 
Of  the  bloom  of  life,  and  ladyship  great, 
Than  all  the  creatures  of  earth  might  win, 
If  their  rights  alone  they  ask'd  of  fate. 
Though  scarcely  did  I  my  work  begin, 
And  the  vineyard  I  enter'd  at  evening  late, 
Yet  my  hire  the  master's  first  care  hath  been ; 
Fully  and  freely  he  paid  me  straight. 

Yet  others  there  were  who  needs  must  wait, 
They  toil'd  and  sweated  for  long  of  yore, 
But  naught  have  receiv'd  of  their  service'  rate, 
And  perhaps  shall  not  for  a  full  year  more." 


Then  more  I  spoke,  and  boldly  did  say, 
"  Unreasonable,  methinks,  thy  tale  ; 
God's  justice  is  ready  and  watchful  aye, 
Or  is  Holy  Writ  but  a  fable  frail. 
In  the  Psalter  a  verse  this  point  doth  weigh, 
Its  meaning  is  clear,  and  cannot  fail : 
'  Each  man  to  his  worth  thou  dost  repay, 
High  King,  whom  all -disposing  we  hail.' 
Now  he  that  bore  the  long  day's  assail, 
If  thou  to  payment  pass  him  before, 
Then  the  less  in  work  doth  the  more  avail, 
And  ever  the  longer,  the  less  is  more." 


LI 


4  4  T  N  the  kingdom  of  God,  on  less  or  more," 

1     Said  that  gentle  one,  "  no  hazards  wait ; 
For  each  alike  is  paid  his  store, 
Whether  his  guerdon  be  small  or  great ; 
No  niggard  the  gentle  Chief  we  adore; 
Whether  soft  or  hard  he  deal  the  fate, 
His  gifts  like  damm'd-up  waters  outpour, 
Or  streams  of  the  deep,  that  never  abate. 

Who  aye  fear'd  him  that  from  sin's  estate 
Can  rescue,  hath  largest  franchise  now ; 
No  bliss  upon  him  shall  close  the  gate ; 
For  the  grace  of  God  is  great  enow. 


LII 

"  To  checkmate  me  now  thou  dost  essay, — 
That  I  wrongly  have  ta'en  my  penny  here, 
Too  late  a  comer  I,  thou  wouldst  say, 
And  thus  unworthy  of  hire  so  dear. 
But  knew'st  thou  e'er  mortal,  so  strong  to  pray, 
So  constant  in  holiness  to  appear, 
That  he  forfeited  not,  some  time  or  way, 
The  meed  of  the  heavenly  kingdom  clear  ? 
And  aye  the  oftener,  the  older  they  were, 
They  wrought  amiss,  and  from  right  did  bow ; 
Mercy  and  grace  then  must  them  steer, 
For  the  grace  of  God  is  great  enow. 


33 


LIII 

"  But  enow  of  grace  have  the  innocent ; 

As  soon  as  they  are  born,  with  heed, 

With  water  of  baptism  are  they  besprent ; 

Straight  to  the  vineyard  thus  they  speed. 

Anon,  when  the  day  with  dark  is  blent, 

And  the  night  of  death  draws  on,  indeed, 

They  who  wrought  never  wrong  ere  thence  they  went, 

The  gentle  lord  sees  their  service  fee'd. 

They  did  his  hest,  even  where  he  did  lead ; 

Why  should  he  not  their  labour  allow, 

And  at  first  day's  close  pay  them  their  meed  ? 

For  the  grace  of  God  is  great  enow. 


LIV 

"  Enow  is  it  known,  God  wrought  man  well, 

And  shap'd  him  for  endless  bliss  aright ; 

But  our  first  father  did  forfeit  and  sell 

That  joy  for  an  apple  he  would  bite. 

All  we  were  condemn'd  through  that  eating's  spell, 

To  die  in  dolour,  lost  to  delight, 

And  then  to  go  to  the  heat  of  hell, 

To  dwell  forever,  beneath  that  blight : 

But  there  came  to  us  salvation's  might ; 
Rich  blood  the  rough  rood  did  endow, 
And  winsome  water;  for  in  that  plight, 
The  grace  of  God  wax'd  great  enow. 


34 


LV 

"  Enow  there  flow'd  from  out  that  well 

Of  blood  and  water,  from  bitter  wound ; 

The  blood  us  bought  from  bale  of  hell, 

And  from  doom  of  the  second  death  unbound. 

The  water  is  baptism,  sooth  to  tell, 

That  followed  the  glaive  full  grimly  ground ; 

It  washeth  away  the  guilt  so  fell, 

Wherewith  Adam  in  death  us  drown'd. 

And  there  is  naught  in  the  world  around 
Between  us  and  bliss,  but  He  made  it  bow 
In  that  blessed  season  our  path  he  found ; 
And  the  grace  of  God  is  great  enow. 


35 


LVI 

4  4  r^  NOW  of  grace  the  man  may  have 
JL!/     That  sinneth  anew,  if  he  repent ; 

But  with  sorrow  and  grief  he  must  it  crave, 

And  abide  the  pain  that  for  sin  is  sent. 

But  reason,  to  right  that  ever  clave, 

Saves  evermore  the  innocent ; 

It  is  a  doom  that  God  never  gave, 

That  ever  the  guiltless  should  be  shent. 
The  guilty  may,  in  contrition  bent, 
To  mercy  come,  and  on  grace  alight  ; 
But  he  that  guile  never  knew  or  meant, 
In  his  innocence  is  sav'd  by  right. 


LVII 

"  Right  well  I  know  of  this  same  case, 
God  must  save  these  two,  and  justice  fulfill, — 
The  righteous  man  shall  see  his  face, 
And  the  blameless  one  shall  be  with  him  still. 
This  verse  in  Psalter  ye  may  trace : 
1  Lord,  who  shall  climb  thy  lofty  hill, 
Or  rest  within  thy  holy  place  ? ' 
And  swift  doth  he  answer  what  is  his  will : 
1  He  whose  clean  hands  have  done  no  ill, 
That  is  of  heart  both  pure  and  light, 
There  shall  stand,  and  a  firm  place  fill.' 
,  The  innocent  is  aye  sav'd  by  right. 


LVIII 

"  The  righteous,  too,  shall  surely  gain 

His  entrance  to  that  glorious  pile, 

Who  taketh  not  his  life  in  vain, 

Nor  deceiveth  his  neighbour  with  any  guile. 

Of  the  righteous,  Solomon  saw  plain 

How  our  Lord  him  greeted  with  kindly  smile ; 

In  ways  full  strait  did  He  him  constrain, 

And  show'd  him  the  kingdom  of  God  awhile, 
As  who  saith,  '  Lo,  yon  lovely  isle  1 
This  may  be  won  by  hardy  wight ; ' 
But  surely,  and  without  perils  vile, 
The  innocent  is  aye  sav'd  by  right. 


LIX 

"  Of  the  righteous  man  ye  may  have  read 
The  Psalter's  words,  by  David  applied, 
'  Lord,  bring  not  thy  servant  to  judgment  dread ; 
For  with  thee  none  living  is  justified.' 
So  when  to  that  court  thou  shalt  be  sped 
Where  all  our  causes  judgment  abide, 
Through  those  same  words  that  late  I  said, 
Thou  mayst  in,  if  in  righteousness  thou  confide ; 
But  He  on  the  bloody  rood  who  died, 
With  hands  sore  pierced  by  cruel  might, 
Grant  thee  to  pass,  when  thou  art  tried,v 
By  innocence,  and  not  that  right. 


37 


LX 

"  He  who  aright  to  read  doth  know, 

Let  him  take  his  book,  and  learn  by  its  aid, 

How  Jesus  was  walking  once,  long  ago, 

And  their  little  ones  folk  before  him  laid. 

For  the  healing  and  help  that  from  him  did  flow, 

To  touch  their  children  they  fair  him  pray'd ; 

His  disciples  harshly  bade  let  him  go, 

And  by  their  rebukes  full  many  were  stay'd. 

Jesus  then  to  them  sweetly  said, 

*  Give  way,  let  the  children  come  to  my  sight ; 

For  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  made.' 

The  innocent  are  aye  sav'd  by  right. 


LXI 

4  4    T  ESUS  calPd  to  him  his  little  ones  mild, 

J      And  said,  his  kingdom  none  enters  in, 
But  come  he  thither  right  as  a  child,  vijf  I  t 

Or  let  him  never  that  quest  begin. 
Harmless,  true,  and  undefiPd, 
Without  or  spot  or  taint  of  sin ; 
When  such  shall  knock  on  that  wall  strong-pil'd, 
Swift  shall  men  them  the  gate  unpin ; 

There  is  the  bliss  that  fades  not  within, 

That  the  jeweller  search'd  for  early  and  late  ; 

Sold  his  linen  and  wool,  yea,  all  he  could  win, 

To  buy  him  a  pearl  immaculate. 


LXII 

"  This  immaculate  pearl,  was  bought  so  dear, 
That  the  jeweller  more  than  all  wealth  it  would, 
To  the  kingdom  of  heaven  hath  likeness  near, 
So  said  the  Father  of  land  and  flood : 
For  it  is  stainless,  pure,  and  clear, 
Round,  without  end,  form'd  in  blissful  mood, 
And  common  to  all  that  were  righteous  here ; 
And  lo !  amid  my  breast  it  stood. 

My  Lord  the  Lamb,  that  shed  his  blood, 
In  token  of  peace  there  set  it  late ; 
Forsake  the  mad  world,  it  were  thee  good, 
And  purchase  this  pearl  immaculate." 


39 


LXIII 

"  O  immaculate  pearl,  in  pearls  so  pure, 

That  bearest,"  said  I,  "  the  pearl  of  price, 

Who  formed  thee  thy  fair  figure  ? 

Who  wrought  thy  weed,  he  was  full  wise ; 

Thy  beauty  came  never  of  nature ; 

Pygmalion  painted  never  those  eyes  ; 

Aristotle  with  all  his  learning,  sure, 

Ne'er  taught  of  thy  kind  and  its  properties. 
Thy  colour  passeth  the  flor-de-lis,  >/' 
Thine  angel-bearing,  how  courteous-great ! 
Tell  me,  bright  one,  what  trust  as  prize 
Weareth  that  pearl  immaculate  ?  " 


LXIV 

v/«  My  immaculate  Lamb,  that  can  bless  all," 

Said  she,  "  my  beloved  fix'd  by  lot, 

Chose  me  to  his  mate,  though  my  worth  was  small ; 

Long  ago  was  that  bridal,  I  wot ; 

What  time  I  from  your  world  did  fall, 

Then  did  he  to  me  his  bliss  allot, 

*  Come  hither,  my  love,  my  sweet ! '  was  his  call, 

'  For  thou  hast  neither  blemish  nor  spot.' 

Beauty  and  might  he  withheld  from  me  not, 
Wash'd  my  weeds  in  his  blood  on  his  throne  of  state, 
In  maidenhood  crown'd  me  withouten  blot, 
And  dight  me  in  pearls  immaculate." 


40 


LXV 

"O  immaculate  bride,  that  flam'st  so  bright, 

And  in  riches  and  royalties  so  dost  thrive, 

Who  is  this  Lamb  of  thy  delight, 

That  thee  would  wed  unto  his  wife  ? 

How  tak'st  thou  o'er  others  so  high  flight, 

To  lead  with  him  such  princely  life  ? 

How  many  maidens,  fair  to  sight, 

Have  endur'd  for  Christ  in  pain  and  strife, 

Yet  all  those  dear  ones  canst  thou  outdrive, 
And  from  that  marriage  all  others  abate, 
All  save  thyself,  in  strength  so  rife, — 
A  matchless  maid,  and  immaculate.'* 


LXVI 


4  4  T  MMACULATE,"  said  that  joyful  queen, 
1      Unblemish'd  I  am,  withouten  blot ; 
That  may  I  say  with  grace,  I  ween  ; 
But  a  matchless  queen,  that  said  I  not. 
Brides  of  the  Lamb  in  bliss  we  been 
A  hundred  and  forty  thousand,  I  wot, 
As  in  the  Apocalypse  it  is  seen ; 
St.  John  saw  them  cluster'd  in  a  knot 

On  the  hill  of  Zion,  that  goodly  spot ; 

The  apostle  saw  them,  in  heavenly  dream, 

On  that  mountain  array'd  for  their  bridal  lot, 

In  the  city  of  New  Jerusalem. 


LXVII 

V 

"  Of  Jerusalem  now  will  I  tell : 
If  thou  wilt  know  what  kind  he  be, — 
My  Lamb,  my  lord,  my  dear  jewel, 
My  joy,  my  bliss,  my  true-love  free, — 
The  prophet  Isaiah  told  of  him  well, 
Of  his  goodly  grace  full  piteously. 
Him  guiltless  and  glorious,  men  did  fell, 
Though  in  him  was  never  evil  to  see ; 

As  a  sheep  to  the  slaughter  led  was  he ; 
As  a  lamb  that  the  shearer  in  field  doth  hem, 
So  clos'd  he  his  mouth  from  plaint  or  plea, 
When  the  Jews  him  judg'd  in  Jerusalem. 


LXVIII 

"  In  Jerusalem  was  my  true-love  slain, 
And  rent  on  the  rood  by  hirelings  bold ; 
All  our  ills  to  bear  full  fain. 
He  took  on  himself  our  cares  so  cold. 
Buffets  on  his  face  did  rain, 
That  once  so  fair  was  to  behold ; 
For  our  sins  he  made  himself  in  vain, 
Who  ne'er  himself  to  sin  had  yold. 

For  us  he  let  them  scourge,  and  hold, 

And  stretch  him  on  the  rugged  beam ; 

As  meek  as  lamb,  no  plaint  he  told ; 

For  us  he  died  in  Jerusalem. 


LXIX 

"  Jerusalem,  Jordan,  and  Galilee, 
There  did  baptise  the  good  St.  John ; 
With  Isaiah's  words  according  spake  he, 
When  Jesus  unto  him  was  gone ; 
He  said  of  him  this  prophecy, 
'  Lo !  the  Lamb  of  God,  the  changeless  One, 
That  all  the  world  shall  yet  set  free 
From  the  sin  it  hath  wrought  beneath  the  sun.' 
He  himself  yet  sin  had  none, 
Though  to  himself  he  all  did  claim ; 
His  generation  who  may  con, 
That  died  for  us  in  Jerusalem  ? 


43 


LXX 

"  In  Jerusalem  thus  my  true-love  sweet, 
Twice  to  a  lamb  was  liken' d  there ; 
Both  prophets  him  thus  in  records  treat, 
For  that  meekly  and  gently  he  him  bare ; 
The  third  time  is,  and  that  is  meet, 
In  Apocalypse  written,  with  full  great  care ; 
Amidst  the  throne,  the  saints'  high  seat, 
The  Apostle  John  of  him  was  ware, 

Unsealing  the  book  with  pages  square, 
Which  seven  signs  set  together  hem ; 
At  that  sight  all  creatures  in  terror  stare, 
In  hell,  in  earth,  and  Jerusalem. 


44 


LXXI 

4  4  HP  HIS  Jerusalem  lamb  had  never  a  stain, 
1       Or  hue  but  the  winsome  white,  in  life ; 

Spot  or  soil  would  attack  in  vain 

That  whitest  wool,  so  rich  and  rife ; 

Thus  every  soul  that  no  blemish  has  ta'en 

Is  unto  that  Lamb  a  worthy  wife; 

And  though  each  day  he  bring  many  again, 

Among  us  comes  never  dispute  or  strife ; 

We  only  would  that  each  one  were  five, — 
The  more,  the  merrier,  so  God  me  bless ; 
By  company  great  our  love  does  thrive, 
And  honour  is  more,  and  never  the  less. 


LXXII 

"  To  less  of  bliss  none  may  us  bring, 
Who  wear  this  pearl  upon  our  breast ; 
For  never  ill  to  them  could  cling, 
Of  spotless  pearls  who  bear  the  crest. 
Although  our  corpses  the  clods  enring, 
And  ye  for  ruth  lament  without  rest, 
Throughout,  we  have  knowledge  of  everything ; 
For  by  One  Death  are  all  hopes  blest. 

The  Lamb  us  gladdens,  no  grief  is  our  guest, 
At  every  feast  his  joy  we  possess; 
The  bliss  of  each  is  brightest  and  best, 
And  no  one's  honour  ever  the  less. 


45 


LXXIII 

"  Less  of  thy  faith  should  my  tale  command, 

These  words  are  writ  in  Apocalypse  lore ; 

*  I  saw,'  saith  John,  * the  Lamb  then  stand 

In  glory  excelling,  on  Zion  hoar ; 

Hundred  thousand  maidens  were  at  his  hand, 

And  four  and  forty  thousand  more; 

And  a  writing  all  their  foreheads  spann'd, 

The  name  of  the  Lamb  and  his  Father  they  bore. 
A  voice  from  heaven  then  heard  I  pour, 
As  of  many  waters  that  rush  and  press, 
As  thunders  on  dark  tors  hurling  roar, 
That  sound,  I  trow,  was  never  the  less. 


LXXIV 

" '  Nevertheless,  though  loud  did  ring 

That  sound,  and  sudden  was  to  hear, 

A  note  full  new  I  heard  them  sing ; 

To  listen  then  was  lovely -dear. 

As  harpers  harp  upon  the  string, 

They  sang  that  new  song  then  full  clear ; 

Resounding  that  noble  music  doth  spring; 

Full  sweet  then  in  chorus  the  strains  they  rear ; 
Before  the  throne  of  God  right  near, 
With  the  four  beasts  that  his  might  confess, 
And  the  elders  all  of  gravest  cheer, 
Sang  they  the  song  that  was  never  the  less. 


LXXV 

"  '  Nevertheless,  was  no  wight  aye, 
For  all  the  crafts  that  ever  he  knew, 
That  ever  could  sing  one  note  of  that  lay, 
Save  the  meinie  that  doth  the  Lamb  ensue. 
For  they  are  bought  from  earth  away, 
As  first-fruits  assign'd  to  God  all  new ; 
To  the  gentle  Lamb  they  are  given  alway, 
As  like  to  himself  in  look  and  hue : 

For  never  a  lie  or  word  untrue 

Was  found  on  their  tongue,  for  any  distress. 

That  stainless  meinie  forever  is  due 

To  that  spotless  Master,  and  never  the  less.'  " 


LXXVI 

"  Nevertheless  my  pearl  I  thank," 

Said  I,  "  though  questions  still  I  pose ; 

I  should  not  try  thy  mind  so  frank, 

Whom  Christ  unto  his  chamber  chose. 

I  bide  but  in  dust  and  mire  all  rank, 

And  thou  so  rich  and  sweet  a  rose,  \#t 

And  dwell'st  here  on  this  blissful  bank, 

Where  life  its  bloom  may  never  lose ; 

Yet,  sweet,  whom  simpleness  erst  did  enclose, 
I  would  thee  ask  one  thing  express ; 
Though  too  forward  I  be,  like  flame  that  blows, 
Let  my  boon  avail  me,  nevertheless. 


47 


LXXVII 

4  4  IV  TEVERTHELESS,  on  thee  I  call, 

IN     If  it  may  be  done,  as  thou  canst  see, 
As  glorious  thou  art,  and  stainless  all, 
Deny  thou  never  my  piteous  plea. 
Have  ye  no  dwelling  in  castle  wall, 
No  manor  to  bide  and  meet  in  free  ? 
Of  Jerusalem  tellest  thou,  rich-royal, 
That  David  dear  calPd  on  its  throne  to  be ; 

But  with  these  holts  that  doth  not  agree ; 

Judaea  that  noble  delight  hath  got ; 

As  undefil'd  'neath  the  moon  are  ye, 

Your  dwelling  should  be  withouten  spot. 


LXXVIII 

"  This  spotless  meinie  thou  dost  me  declare, 
A  throng  of  thousands,  so  mighty  a  rout, — 
A  city  vast,  since  so  many  are  there, 
Ye  behoove  to  have,  withouten  doubt. 
So  joyous  a  wealth  of  jewels  fair, 
'Twere  evil  done  should  lie  without ; 
Yet,  tarrying  here  on  this  bank,  nowhere 
See  I  hall  or  castle  hereabout. 

Here  ye  but  come  and  linger  out 
To  look  on  this  fair  stream's  glory,  I  wot ; 
If  thou  hast  dwelling  fixed  and  stout, 
Now  lead  me  to  that  happy  spot." 


LXXIX 

«'  That  spot  thou  mean'st  in  Judaea's  land," 

(That  creature  wondrous  to  me  then  spake) 

"  Is  the  town  where  the  Lamb  first  took  his  stand, 

To  suffer  sore  for  mortals'  sake ; 

The  Old  Jerusalem,  understand, 

For  that  he  the  old  guilt  there  did  slake ; 

But  the  New,  that  came  shining  from  God's  own  hand, 

The  saint  for  Apocalypse'  theme  did  take. 

The  Lamb  there  with  never  a  speck  or  flake, 
The  fair  flock  too  that  he  there  hath  brought, — 
As  their  whiteness  hath  never  blemish  nor  break, 
So  too  that  place  is  withouten  spot. 


LXXX 

"  Of  these  two  spots  aright  to  ween, 
Both  Jerusalem  called  in  their  degrees, — 
Naught,  I  rede  thee,  that  name  doth  mean 
But  City  of  God,  or  Sight  of  Peace. 
In  the  one  our  peace  made  whole  hath  been ; 
Pain  there  to  suffer  the  Lamb  did  please ; 
In  the  other  is  naught  but  peace  to  glean, 
The  same  forever,  that  shall  not  cease. 

That  is  the  bourne  where  the  spirit  flees 
When  that  our  flesh  is  laid  to  rot ; 
There  glory  and  bliss  shall  ever  increase 
To  the  meinie  that  is  withouten  spot." 


49 


LXXXI 

"  Spotless  maid,  so  mild  and  meek," 
Then  said  I  to  that  lovely  flower, 
*'  That  noble  pile  now  let  me  seek, 
And  bring  me  to  thy  blissful  bower." 
"  God  grants  not,"  said  that  bright  one  eek ; 
"Thou  mayst  not  enter  within  his  tower; 
But  for  thee  from  the  Lamb  did  I  well  bespeak 
For  a  sight  thereof,  through  his  favour's  dower. 
See  that  pure  cloister  thou  mayst  this  hour, 
Without ;  but  within  it  thy  foot  falls  not ; 
To  step  in  those  streets  hast  thou  no  power, 
But  thou  wert  clean  withouten  spot. 


LXXXII 

44  \  I  7iLT  thou  see  the  spot  where  it  doth  hide, 
VV      Bend  thy  steps  up  toward  this  river's  head, 

And  across  from  thee  upon  this  side, 

I  will  follow,  till  thou  to  a  hill  hast  led." 

Then  there  would  I  no  longer  bide ; 

By  fair-leav'd  boughs  I  softly  fled, 

Till  a  hill  before  me  I  espied, 

And  beheld  the  city,  as  up  I  sped. 

Beyond  the  stream,  far  from  me,  that  stead, 
That  brighter  than  sun,  with  clear  beams  shone ; 
In  Apocalypse  its  fashion  is  read, 
As  describeth  it  the  Apostle  John. 


LXXXIII 

As  John  the  apostle  saw  the  sight, 
Saw  I  that  city  high-renown'd, 
Jerusalem  the  New,  full  royally  dight, 
As  it  new  alighted  from  heaven  was  found. 
Of  pure  gold  all  that  burgh  was  built, 
Burnish'd,  it  gleam'd  like  glass  around, 
With  precious  gems  beneath  it  pight ; 
The  base  with  courses  twelve  was  crown'd, 
Foundations  twelve,  full  richly  bound, 
And  a  special  stone  each  tier  thereon  ; 
As  well  that  city's  praise  doth  sound, 
In  Apocalypse,  the  Apostle  John. 


LXXXIV 

As  John  in  writ  these  stones  did  name, 
Their  kinds  I  well  through  him  could  trace ; 
Jasper  was  call'd  the  first  fair  gem, 
I  saw  it  the  first  foundation  grace, 
Green  it  gleam'd,  and  the  base  did  hem. 
Sapphire  then  held  the  second  place  ; 
Chalcedony  spotless  was  third  of  them, 
Purely  pale  it  shone  in  the  space ; 

The  fourth  tier  emerald  green  did  face 
The  fifth  sardonyx  was  laid  upon ; 
The  sixth  a  ruby  is,  as  says 
In  Apocalypse,  the  Apostle  John. 


LXXXV 

Then  added  John  the  chrysolite, 
The  seventh  gem  that  foundation  knew ; 
The  eight  was  beryl,  clear  and  white, 
And  ninth  came  topaz,  of  twofold  hue ; 
Chrysophrase  the  tenth  is  hight ; 
Eleventh,  did  precious  jacinth  ensue; 
The  twelfth  is  ever  the  fairest  to  sight, 
The  amethyst,  purple,  blent  with  blue. 
The  wall  that  overhung  them,  anew, 
Was  jasper,  like  gleaming  glass  that  shone; 
I  knew  it  by  his  description  true 
In  Apocalypse,  the  Apostle  John. 


LXXXVI 

As  John  described,  so  saw  I  there 
Those  twelve  steps,  broad  and  steep  to  sight ; 
The  city  stood  above,  all  square, 
Alike  in  length  and  breadth  and  height ; 
The  streets  of  gold  like  glass  lay  bare, 
The  jasper  wall  gleam' d  with  amber's  light ; 
The  dwellings  within  adorned  were 
With  store  of  far -brought  jewels  bright. 
And  every  way  the  city  site 
Full  twelve  furlongs'  length  did  run  ; 
So  high,  so  long,  so  broad  aright, 
For  it  measured  saw  the  Apostle  John. 


53 


LXXXVII 

OF  what  John  beheld,  more  did  I  descry ; 
That  town  hath  in  every  wall  three  gates, 
That  twelve  in  order  I  might  espy ; 
Deck'd  were  the  portals  with  richest  plates ; 
Each  gate  one  perfect  pearl  saw  I, 
Whose  glory  dims  never,  nor  abates  ; 
And  each  a  name  doth  bear  on  high, 
Of  the  children  of  Israel,  after  their  dates, 

As  the  order  of  their  birth  them  rates ; 

The  eldest  are  aye  first  in  that  rune ; 

And  such  light  that  city  floods  and  sates, 

It  needeth  neither  sun  nor  moon. 


LXXXVIII 

They  have  no  need  of  moon  or  sun, 
For  God's  self  is  their  lamp  of  light, 
The  Lamb  their  lantern,  ever  one  ; 
Through  him  beams  all  the  city  bright. 
Through  wall  and  dwelling  mine  eyes  did  run, 
For  clear  so  rare  hides  naught  from  sight. 
The  high  throne  might  I  look  upon, 
With  all  its  rich  array  bedight, 

As  John  hath  told  in  words  of  might. 

High  God's  self  thereon  saw  I  soon ; 

A  river  there  ran  from  the  throne  outright, 

Was  brighter  than  both  the  sun  and  moon. 


54 


LXXXIX 

Sun  or  moon  shone  never  so  sweet 
As  that  rich  flood  which  there  doth  rise ; 
Swiftly  it  surgeth  through  every  street, 
Nor  slime  nor  stain  in  its  waters  lies. 
No  church  doth  that  city's  dwellers  greet ; 
Nor  chapel  nor  temple  behold  their  eyes ; 
The  Almighty  One  is  their  minster  meet, 
The  Lamb  their  redeeming  sacrifice. 

Ne'er  clos'd  are  those  portals  in  any  wise, 
But  open  at  every  lane,  late  and  soon  ; 
None  there  to  enter  for  refuge  tries, 
That  beareth  blemish  beneath  the  moon. 


XC 

The  moon  hath  there  nor  place  nor  might ; 

Too  spotted  is  she,  too  wan  and  grim ; 

Moreover,  since  never  there  is  night, 

Why  her  course  should  she  thither  swim, 

And  liken  herself  with  that  noble  light 

That  shineth  upon  the  river's  brim  ? 

The  planets  are  in  too  poor  a  plight, 

And  the  sun  himself  far,  far  too  dim. 
Fair  trees  that  glorious  water  rim, 
That  bear  twelve  fruits  of  life  full  soon ; 
Twelve  times  in  the  year  they  richly  them  trim, 
And  renew  it  all  fresh  with  every  moon. 


55 


XCI 

Under  the  moon,  such  marvel  plac'd, 
No  heart  of  flesh  aye  might  endure, 
As  when  upon  that  spot  I  gaz'd, 
So  fair  was  it,  beyond  measure. 
As  still  I  stood  as  quail  bedaz'd, 
For  wonder  of  that  vision's  lure ; 
No  feeling  rest  or  travail  rais'd, 
So  was  I  ravish'd  with  glory  pure ; 

For  I  dare  say,  with  conscience  sure, 
If  mortal  in  body  abode  that  boon, 
Though  all  the  clerks  had  him  in  cure, 
His  life  were  lost  beneath  the  moon. 


XCII 

As  when  the  mighty  moon  doth  rise 
Ere  day-gleam,  dimming,  hath  sunk  all  down, 
So,  suddenly,  in  wondrous  wise, 
A  moving  host  to  me  was  known, 
Soundless,  unsummon'd,  before  mine  eyes  : 
Suddenly,  all  that  noble  town 
Was  filPd  with  virgins  in  that  same  guise 
As  my  blissful  one  that  ware  the  crown. 

Crown'd  too  were  all  they,  and  white  of  gown, 
In  selfsame  fashion  with  pearls  bedight ; 
And  firm  on  each  breast  that  rare  renown, 
That  blissful  pearl  of  great  delight. 


XCIII 

In  great  delight  together  they  were, 
On  the  gold  ways  gliding,  as  glass  that  gleam  ; 
Hundred  thousands  in  all  were  here, 
And  all  alike  their  array,  I  deem ; 
'Twas  hard  to  know  the  gladdest  cheer. 
Stately  the  Lamb  led  on  that  stream ; 
Seven  horns  had  he  of  the  red  gold  clear, 
Like  pearls  of  price  did  his  raiment  beam. 

No  press  there  was,  though  such  throng  did  teem, 

As  toward  the  throne  they  far'd  aright ; 

Mild  as  at  mass  young  maidens  seem, 

So  drew  they  on  with  great  delight. 


57 


XCIV 

Delight  that  there  His  coming  bred, 
Too  great  it  was  for  me  to  tell : 
The  elders,  when  he  near  was  sped, 
Prostrate  before  his  feet  they  fell. 
Legions  of  angels,  there  summoned, 
Cast  incense  forth,  of  sweetest  smell ; 
New  glee  and  glory  abroad  were  spread ; 
All  sang  to  praise  that  bright  Jewel : 

That  voice  might  strike  through  earth  to  hell. 

Of  the  heavenly  Virtues  in  joy  and  might ; 

To  praise  the  Lamb  in  his  meinie  well, 

In  truth,  methought  it  great  delight. 


xcv 

Delight  of  that  Lamb  before  mine  eyes, 
And  marvel  great,  in  my  mind  there  went ; 
Best  was  he,  blithest,  and  most  to  prize 
Of  all  on  whom  speech  was  ever  spent. 
So  nobly  white  his  garment  and  guise ; 
So  gentle  he  look'd,  so  simple  his  bent ; 
But  a  wound  full  wide  and  wet  there  lies 
Anigh  his  heart,  where  the  skin  is  rent ; 

From  his  white  side  the  blood  is  sprent, — 
"Alas,"  thought  I,  "  who  did  that  spite  ? 
What  breast  in  pain  had  not  outbrent, 
Ere  it  in  that  had  found  delight  ? " 


XCVI 

The  Lamb's  delight  none  doubt,  I  ween ; 
Though  he  were  hurt  with  wound  so  sad, 
Naught  in  his  semblance  was  it  seen, 
His  looks  were  all  so  glorious-glad. 
I  turn'd,  among  his  meinie  sheen 
To  see  how  Life  them  fill'd  and  clad, — 
Then  saw  I  there  my  little  queen, 
Methought  I  still  beside  me  had ; 

Ah  Lord  1  what  mirth  I  heard  her  add, 
Among  her  peers  that  was  so  white ! 
To  cross  the  stream  that  sight  me  bade, 
For  love -longing  and  great  delight. 


59 


XCVII 

r^v  FLIGHT  so  grew  to  hear  and  see, 

L/      In  madness  melted  my  mortal  thought ; 

When  I  saw  my  joy,  there  would  I  be, 

Though  beyond  the  water  she  must  be  sought. 

Nothing,  I  ween'd,  might  hinder  me ; 

To  halt  my  onrush  there  was  naught ; 

And  to  plunge  in  the  stream  if  I  were  free, 

I  would  swim  the  rest,  though  my  death  it  wrought. 

But  from  that  purpose  soon  was  I  brought ; 

As  I  would  leap,  all  wildly  still, 

Out  of  that  passion  I  was  caught ; 

It  was  not  to  my  Prince's  will. 


XCVIII 

'Twas  not  his  will  I  should  fling  me  there 
O'er  those  mystic  bounds,  in  mad  array ; 
Though  headlong  I  rush'd,  nor  haste  did  spare, 
Yet  suddenly  my  course  had  stay ; 
Up  the  bank  as  I  push'd,  without  heed  or  care, 
That  fury  drove  my  dream  away ; 
I  awaken'd  then  in  that  arbour  fair ; 
My  head  upon  that  same  mound  lay 

Where  my  pearl  in  the  grass  had  gone  astray. 

I  rous'd  me,  and  fell  in  a  terror  ill ; 

Then  sighing,  to  myself  did  say, 

"  Now  all  be  to  that  Prince's  will ! " 


60 


XCIX 

Sore  against  my  will  was  I  outcast 
So  sudden  from  that  region  fair, 
Those  sights  of  living  joy  all  past. 
Deep  longing  sent  me  swooning  there, 
And  mournfully  I  cried  at  last, 
"O  Pearl,"  said  I,  "  thou  rich  and  rare, 
How  dear  to  me  what  thou  steadfast 
Didst  in  this  vision  true  declare  ! 
If  thou  in  very  sooth  dost  wear 
That  crown  so  bright  and  glorious  still, 
'Tis  well  for  me,  in  this  dungeon  of  care, 
That  thou  art  to  that  Prince's  will." 


To  that  Prince's  will  had  I  ever  bent, 

And  crav'd  no  more  than  he  gave  me  aye, 

And  held  me  there  in  faithful  intent, 

As  the  Pearl  so  exalted  did  me  pray, 

When  thus  God's  presence  by  grace  was  lent, 

More  mysteries  had  I  seen  that  day. 

But  ever  more  good  than  can  be  sent 

By  right,  a  man  will  seize,  if  he  may ; 

Thus  was  my  joy  soon  snatch'd  away, 
And  I  cast  from  the  realm  that  endureth  still ; 
Who  strive  against  thee,  Lord,  mad  are  they, 
Or  offer  thee  aught  against  thy  will. 


61 


CI 


With  that  Prince's  will  in  peace  to  agree 

Is  easy  for  Christ's  folk,  and  full  of  cheer ; 

He  hath  been  through  all  my  days  to  me 

A  God,  a  master,  a  friend  without  peer. — 

On  that  mound  it  befell  me  these  things  to  see, 

Prone,  for  my  pearl  in  grief  so  drear ; 

And  then  to  God  I  yielded  her  free, 

With  my  blessing,  and  Christ's,  whose  love  is  near ; 

The  priest  who  the  bread  and  wine  doth  uprear 

Daily  to  us  Him  showeth  still ; 

He  grant  us  to  be  His  servants  dear, 

And  precious  pearls  unto  His  will ! 

Amen,  Amen. 


62 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

nr*HE  present  rendering  owes  much  help  to 
1  Dr.  Osgood's  purer  text,  as  well  as  to 
his  interpretations,  in  both  his  edition  and  his 
translation.  But  since  the  learned  do  not 
always  agree,  the  translator  has  at  times  felt 
privileged  to  exercise  a  choice;  so  that 
some  readings  are  those  of  Gollancz  and 
of  Holthausen.  The  translator  wishes  to 
acknowledge  also  an  indebtedness  to  Mr. 
Israel  Gollancz's  version  for  a  number  of 
happy  suggestions,  and  to  mention  that  her 
prefatory  pages  were  written  before  the 
reading  of  Dr.  Osgood's  Introduction  to  his 
text,  in  which,  amid  a  very  full  and  system- 
atic discussion  of  both  literary  and  scholarly 
questions,  are  some  similarities  of  thought. 

To  translate  a  poem  is  to  attempt  the 
impossible ;  but  the  aim  of  this  rendering 
has  been  to  express  faithfully  the  spirit  of 
the  old  poet  in  his  own  verse-form,  and,  so 
far  as  might  be,  in  language  as  simple  and 
direct  as  his  own.  The  few  slight  liberties 
taken  are  only  expansions  or  heightenings 
of  the  poet's  own  thought,  not  the  additions 
of  a  personal  fancy. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 

I.  THE  ORIGINAL  TEXT: 

The  Pearl  was  preserved  for  us,  almost 
miraculously,  as  Mr.  Gollancz  intimates,  in 
one  manuscript  alone,  the  British  Museum's 
"  Cotton  Nero  A  x,"  (new  number  ,+4).  This 
and  three  other  poems,  Cleanness,  Patience, 
and  Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight, 
believed,  from  similarity  of  dialect  and 
thought,  to  be  by  the  same  writer,  are  bound 
up  together  with  some  unrelated  matters. 
Till  1864,  when  Dr.  Richard  Morris  searched 
out  these  fourteenth  century  treasures  for 
the  Early  English  Text  Society,  the  nature 
of  these  poems  was  quite  unknown,  previous 
examinations  of  the  manuscript  having  been 
baffled  by  the  difficulties  of  the  script  and 
the  obscure  dialect. 

II.  EDITIONS  OF  THE  PEARL: 

Early  English  Alliterative  Poems  in  the 
West-Midland  Dialect  of  the  Fourteenth 
Century.  Edited  by  Rev.  Richard  Morris, 
LL.D.  Early  English  Text  Society  I. 
London,  1864.  Revised  and  reprinted,  1869, 
1885,  1896,  1901. 

Pearl,  an  English  Poem  of  the  Fourteenth 
Century.  Edited,  with  a  Modern  Render- 
ing, by  Israel  Gollancz,  M.A.,  London,  1891. 
David  Nutt. 


66 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 

(A  new  and  revised  rendering  by  Professor 
Gollancz  is  announced  as  forthcoming  in  the 
Florence  Press  Series,  London:  Chatto  and 
Windus.) 

The  Pearl,  a  Middle  English  Poem.  Ed- 
ited, with  introduction,  notes,  and  glossary, 
by  Charles  G.  Osgood,  Jr.,  Ph.D.,  1906. 
Boston  and  London.  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co. 

III.    TRANSLATIONS  : 

Mr.  Gollancz,  as  above. 

S.  Weir  Mitchell,  Pearl,  Rendered  into 
Modern  English  Verse.  New  York,  1906, 
Century  Co.  Reprinted  by  Thomas  B. 
Mosher,  Portland,  Maine,  in  The  Bibelot, 
xiv,  7,  1908.  Sixty  copies  were  also  printed 
on  hand -made  paper  for  presentation  pur- 
poses. Renders  about  half  the  poem. 

G.  G.  Coulton,  Pearl,  Rendered  into  Mod- 
ern English.  London,  1906,  David  Nutt.  A 
complete  version  in  the  verse  of  the  original. 

Charles  G.  Osgood,  Jr.,  The  Pearl  ren- 
dered in  Prose.  Princeton,  N.  J.,  1907.  Pub- 
lished by  the  Translator. 

(The  beautiful  story  of  Sir  Gawain  and 
the  Green  Knight  is  easily  accessible  in  the 
volume  of  Everyman  's  Library  called  Fairy 
Gold.) 

Readers  interested  in  the  literary  criticism 
of  The  Pearl  will  find  Dr.  Osgood's  Intro- 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 

duction  to  his  translation  an  enlightening 
and  deeply  thoughtful  study  of  the  spiritual 
content  of  the  poem.  Ten  Brink's  History 
of  English  Literature,  I,  336-351,  is  recom- 
mended as  a  general  description  of  this  piece 
and  the  three  others  by  the  same  author. 
Much  of  the  material,  interesting  though 
largely  speculative,  of  the  introduction  to 
the  Gollancz  edition,  now  out  of  print,  may 
be  found,  with  recent  additions,  in  Mr.  Gol- 
lancz's  article  in  the  Cambridge  English 
Literature,  I.  The  theory  propounded  by 
Dr.  Schofield,  in  the  Publications  of  the 
Modern  Language  Association  of  America, 
xix,  154-215,  (The  Pearl:  its  Nature  and 
Fabric)  that  the  poem  is  not  an  elegy  at  all, 
and  has  only  an  allegorical  import,  in  spite 
of  his  distinguished  authority  appears  to 
have  met  with  no  very  general  acceptance 
among  scholars.  The  point  seems  one  for 
literary  criticism  quite  as  much  as  for  pure 
scholarship,  and  one  ventures  to  think  that 
a  jury  of  Matthew  Arnolds  or  A.  C.  Brad- 
leys  would  not  long  hesitate  to  give  a  verdict 
for  the  defendant. 


NOTES 

Stanza  iv,  line  3.  This  "  high  season  "  is 
thought  to  be,  very  appropriately,  the  feast 
of  the  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  August 
fifteenth. 

Stanza  xxxvi,  line  12.  "Courtesy"  in 
this  and  the  following  stanzas  means  "  noble- 
ness, generosity,  benevolence,  goodness." 
The  New  English  Dictionary,  after  defining 
the  word  as  above,  quotes  from  a  sermon  of 
Wiclif,  1380:  "Crist,  of  his  curtasie,  inter- 
pretith  ther  wordis  to  goode." 

Stanza  XL,  line  4.  This  line  is  supplied 
by  Mr.  Gollancz,  one  having  been  omitted 
here  by  the  scribe. 

Stanza  LXX,  line  12.  The  New  Jerusalem 
is  here  meant,  —  thus,  in  hell,  earth  and 
heaven. 


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